This is the week, in Sheffield, when the blossom is at its best.
As you drive past
the hanging blossom of the cherry tree,
you are moving too fast.
Their pale luminescence an unnoticed glory,
a promise, year by year, you fail to keep.
But one day soon you will stop,
Yesterday would have been my Father-in-Law Donald Malcolm's 90th birthday, what a man. Here is the poem I wrote for him remembering the day we fist met.
Meeting My Father-in-Law
Your warm and bearlike hand
grasped my slim, collegiate palm
more turned to turning pages than
industry and grind. At